A Midsummer Knight's Dream
by ShearViscosity
Summary: The night before his trial, Joren has a strange visitor that tries to warn him about his future.  Will he heed the advice or ignore it?  Inspired by lionesseyes13's Voice of the Desert fic. One-shot.


This story was inspired by lionesseyes13's Voice of the Desert, specifically chapter 51. I had never really cared for Joren, but after reading her fic, I wanted to see some kind of intervention to at least give Joren a chance to avoid his fate. This story is the result. A major thanks goes out to lionesseyes13 for inspiring this fic and editing it. Also if you haven't read Voice of the Desert, you should.

I do not own the rights to the Protector of the Small series.

**A Midsummer Knight's Dream**

Joren of Stone Mountain was left alone once more after Zahir left. He had been close to Zahir when they were younger as pages, bonding over their agreement that being a knight was no place for a woman, when the Lump decided to become one. However, ever since they had become squires, they had gradually drifted apart.

When Joren came up with the idea of having the Lump's maid kidnapped to keep her from passing the tests, he had expected Zahir to agree with him. Instead he had received a lecture from Zahir about how it was wrong, and all women deserved the same treatment, or something like that. He had received the same spiel from his knight master, Sir Paxton, Lord Wyldon and others. Not that he listened. They were just jealous that Joren had the courage to finally do what the others should have done when the Lump got the demented notion about being a knight all those years ago.

Still, Joren had to admit, he may not have cared about the topic, but he had enjoyed Zahir's company before he left. Now Joren was left alone in his lavishly decorated noble holding cell. It had a plush bed, desk, books—all the comforts of home. That made the wait for the sham trial much more bearable.

Tomorrow, the case would be presented, and the worst outcome would be simply a fine. Joren had checked ahead of time, in case the commoner thugs he hired squealed, which they did. Such a commoner thing to do. Commoners had no sense of honor or loyalty.

The fine wouldn't diminish his chance of becoming a knight, though, since it involved no jail time, and that was all Joren really cared about. He would pay the fine and move on with his life, to much more important things than some silly maid.

Or so he thought. Thinking he was alone, he was startled by a voice behind him saying, "He is right, you know. You should listen to him about heading down a dangerous path."

Whipping his head around toward the source of noise, which in this case was coming from off to his side, he saw the last person he expected. It was the Lump, sitting casually on top of his desk.

"How'd you get in here?" he demanded of her. "I don't recall the guards letting you in."

She cocked her head to the side and said, "Well, of course you wouldn't. The guards didn't let me in." Before he could reply, she hopped off the desk and slowly walked toward him. When she stopped in front him, Joren gasped in horror at the sight. Her features melted and rippled against her skin, until they finally stopped and Joren found he was looking at his twin. In front of him was a perfect copy of himself, the same hair, the same eyes, and even the same cocky smile.

"Who are you?" he asked, with a slight tremble in his voice, and carefully took a couple steps back toward the door.

His twin let out a low chuckle. "Currently, you. The question you should be asking is _what_ am I."

"Guard!" cried Joren. "Guard, there's somebody in here with me."

His twin merely chuckled, not bothered by the fact that they would soon have company.

Taking his time, the guard slowly unlocked and opened the door. "What do you want?" he demanded in a gruff voice.

"Don't you see him?" asked a frantic Joren, gesturing to where his twin was.

"Look, I don't know what game you're playing at, but I'm not falling for it. It's late. Go to bed."After saying that, the guard slammed and locked the door.

Under his breath, Joren swore about how the guards were paid more than they deserved, especially since they it was well known they took bribes among other things.

"People can only see or hear me when I want them to." A voice snapped Joren out of his thoughts. His twin was still in the room with him.

Joren snarled, "Who," then correcting himself, "what, are you?"

"Who knew that you had a brain after all? Perhaps I was wrong and there is hope for you still."

"What kind of answer is that?"

"As I said earlier, you, Joren of Stone Mountain, are heading down a dangerous path. If you do not stop, you'll never become a knight."

"Oh, really," sneered Joren, "and how would you know that?"

"Because," said his twin, getting closer to him, "I'd kill you before I would allow somebody like you to become a knight of Tortall."

Joren laughed at this. "And how would you accomplish that?"

Revealing his gleaming white teeth in a predator smile, his twin answered, "Haven't you figured it out, Joren? I'm the Chamber." At this, Joren's smirk was wiped off his face. "And as I said, I'll kill you before allowing you to become a knight of this realm."

The room was silent for a couple minutes after this revelation. Joren was debating whether or not he was dreaming or hallucinating. His twin just continued to stare at him with a very familiar know-it-all smile on his face. Answering his internal struggle, his twin finally said, "This is really happening."

Then to prove it, he slashed Joren across his left cheek. Joren slowly raised his left hand to his face and felt something wet. Looking at his hand, he saw there was blood on it, and could feel the pain spreading across his cheek. "See, real," said his twin, or Chamber, or whatever the hell it was.

Joren looked at the blood on his hand, and then up at his twin. "What do you want?"

"Maybe I was correct with my first assumption that you are incapable of thinking for yourself."

Enraged at this insult, Joren responded, "I'm perfectly capable of thinking for myself."

"If so, then why do you parrot back whatever your father says?"

"That's because his beliefs are correct," Joren maintained.

Snickering, his twin asked, "If they're so correct than what am I doing here trying to get you to change your beliefs?"

"What's so wrong with them?" Joren coldly arched an eyebrow.

"As a knight, you would be sworn to defend the weak and whoever asks for your protection. What do you do now? Have an innocent girl kidnapped, and you don't even show any remorse for it."

"That's what this is about? She's some silly maid and doesn't even matter. I was just using her to show the Lump her place."

His twin's words quickly took on an icy tone. "How dare you be so presumptuous. It is not up to you to decide what Keladry of Mindelan's place is and whether or not she deserves to be a knight. That is my job, not yours. Furthermore, Lalasa may just be a maid, but you are still sworn to protect her, just as you would any noble."

"All right. I'm sorry I kidnapped Lalasa. Happy?" Joren said with a hint of sarcasm.

"Do not say important words you do not mean," his twin snapped at him. "Especially to me. I know your thoughts, Joren, I know your past and future. With the path you're on, it's a very grim future indeed."

Before Joren could ask what he meant by that, the room started to swirl around and around. Joren felt dizzy at the sight, so he closed his eyes tightly and gripped the desk chair behind him for support. When he opened his eyes, he saw that he was in his room no more. Instead, he was standing outside the Chamber itself.

He looked to his twin for an explanation, but he only received one word, "Watch."

Joren then noticed that his knightmaster, Sir Paxton was standing anxiously, waiting for something to happen, along with the Mithran priests, and Joren's uncle. Then the door to the Chamber slowly opened, and he gasped at the sight. Spread-eagled on the Chamber floor was him. He was covered in bruises and scrapes. Blood was trickling from his mouth, and his body was a collage of blue, black, and red. The sight of his mangled body reminded him of a rag doll, and he started to feel his stomach turn on him. At the sight of his battered body, Paxton and his uncle rushed to his side.

"Am I dead?" Joren inquired of his twin slowly.

His answer came from Paxton who was feeling for a pulse. "He's... he's dead."

The image started swirling again, this time showing his mother and father crying over his dead body. His mother was holding his body in her arms, sobbing heavily. His father was shouting about how it was the bitch's fault, and she would pay for what she did to his son.

It was then that his twin finally spoke. "He's wrong. Keladry of Mindelan is not responsible for your death; you are. All those bruises, scratches, and other injuries are the ones that you have handed out to people over the years. They may have seemed inconsequential separately, but together they were enough to kill you."

"I understand. Don't abuse people anymore. Can we go back to my room now?" Joren asked impatiently, wanting to get away from the grisly image and not eager to see more.

His twin started to grow taller and taller like a giant. Soon he passed a giant's height and was looming miles above Joren. Joren was suddenly struck by a memory from when he was younger.

On hot summer days, one of his favorite hobbies was taking his father's magnifying glass and using it on the ants outside. He loved how they trembled in fear of him and scurried away quickly to avoid being burned to death or to feel the crushing weight from his boot. Now Joren understood their fear, for he too wanted to quickly scurry away from the massive being in front of him.

"You do not understand," it cried. The voice rang so loudly that Joren put his hands over his ears to protect them, but to no avail. His voice still rang in Joren's ears. "Not only are you wrong in your arrogance that you can mistreat women and others you deem beneath you without consequence, but you are also wrong to assume that they are beneath you to begin with."

Then, figures out of the darkness slowly started to come for him. Starting off as blobs and shadows in the distance, they soon transformed into people as they got closer to him. He recognized some as commoners and the women he had mistreated over the years, and others he had no clue who they were. They walked steadily toward him, a whole sea now, and Joren turned to run away from them. Except they were coming from behind him as well. In every direction, the mass of people had him surrounded in a giant circle with no place to run. He screamed as they finally reached him with their clammy skin touching all over his body.

Before he had tried to protect his ears from the din of his twin's voice, and now he had his hands tightly clenched over his eyes. Like before, it didn't help. Visions assailed his eyes once the crowd reached him. He saw their lives flash before his eyes. He felt the pain, fear, and misery of all the women he had mistreated, including Lalasa, and those whom he didn't know. He felt the agony of childbirth, something he had vastly underestimated, and then the joy that followed when the mothers held their newborns. He felt hunger and cold that he never knew existed; it reached into his very bones. He felt the anger and hate toward members of his class from those who were mistreated.

But not all the memories were poor. There was the warmth and joy from families who didn't have much. Joren didn't understand how they could be so happy having so little. He couldn't fathom that love could be more valuable than gold to some. There were the small children who played Lioness in the streets, admiring the knights of the realm. There were young couples in love, giving Joren a taste of something that he had never known.

The visions of the people's lives went by in a second, but to Joren it felt like eternity. He felt their joy, grief, anger, hopes, and dreams. He was with them from the day they were born to the day they died. For some, their deaths were horrible or much too soon. Little children freezing to death in the cold winter because they didn't have the proper clothing. Women dying in childbirth because they couldn't afford a decent midwife. Being stabbed for just a little money that would have been pocket change to Joren.

After the visions left, Joren opened his eyes carefully. He saw that he was kneeling on a cold stone floor, in a dark empty room. His twin was no longer, and in his place was Wyldon.

"Do you understand now? What I showed you is just a fraction of the commoner population. The number of commoners is more than double that of the nobles. If you and your peers continue your treatment of them, one day they will realize this with disastrous results for you and your peers. Revolutions have happened in the past and will happen again. It is my job to ensure the protection of this realm by appointing representatives to fight threats. How can I do that when the representatives are themselves the threat that I must protect my realm against?"

Joren had no retort, no clever comeback or response. He merely nodded his head.

Wyldon wasn't satisfied with this. "Well, do you? Answer me!" he demanded of Joren.

Joren quietly responded, "Yes. I understand." Then he decided it would be best to suck up to the Chamber, for fear of what else it had in store. "I'm flattered that you decided to take the time to deter me from my faith."

Wyldon was far from flattered. "Fool. I did not do it for your benefit. I did it for those who have proven their worth to the realm and have served me well. I did it for your knightmaster, Sir Paxton of Nond, who is torn between punishing you, which is sorely needed, and hurting your self esteem, which you have too much of. I did it for Lord Wyldon, who once thought you were his most promising student, but now doubts himself. After your death, he'll retire for fear of repeating his mistake with you with another page. I did it for Zahir ibn Alhaz, who once was your best friend. Even now, he disagrees with you, but still worries for you after everything you've done and said. Most friends would have abandoned you by now. I did it for Keladry of Mindelan, who despite her dislike and hatred of you, will still be saddened that you had to die during your Ordeal. I did it for your parents, who will have to deal with the grief of losing their only son, their pride and joy, so young. I did not do this for you."

Joren's only response was, "What do I have to do to change my fate?"

"Change your way and treatment of others. Tomorrow, you will be only fined for your actions. Given your stubbornness in the past, I'd wager the trial will not change your behavior, and if anything, simply encourage it. So, what will you choose, Joren of Stone Mountain? Will you choose to become a legend of the Scanran War that will start soon, or will you choose to be a legend among the pages? The tale of Joren of Stone Mountain who died during his Ordeal, a cautionary tale whispered among the pages to scare the first years. A tale that will be passed down so far that eventually your name will be forgotten, and your tale will be thought to be fiction."

And with that Lord Wyldon, the Chamber, whatever it was, was gone, and Joren was left alone in the cold room. Not for long. The floor beneath him suddenly gave way, and Joren was falling. It was so dark and lonely that it seemed as if he was falling into an infinite darkness, a never ending abyss. Since the chasm seemed as if it would never end, Joren gave up hope of ever returning to his room again.

* * *

Joren sat straight up in bed. He was in a cold sweat, and found to his delight that he was still alive. Just then the gruff guard from earlier came in and put a tray of food on the desk, and a pitcher of water on the dresser. "You have an hour before the trial starts," was all he had to say to Joren.

He walked over and poured the pitcher of cold water into the basin on the dresser. Putting his hands into it, he splashed cold water on his face. _It was just a dream, just a dream_, he thought. But then he felt the water sting on his cheek. In the mirror above the basin, he saw that there was a scratch on his left cheek. It was just a dream.

Wasn't it?

****Author's Note****

**I left Joren's fate up to the reader to decide. I would love it if he learned from this experience and changed his ways. But alas, as the Chamber points out Joren is the stubborn type and it would be just like him to write the experience off as a strange dream. He would probably think that he injured himself in his sleep to explain the scratch. **

**Like? Dislike? Do you think Joren will heed the Chamber's warning, or ignore it? Let me know in reviews, and thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it.**


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